Heart Choice (46 page)

Finally it was the eve of the open house. The workers had left. Antenn was spending the night at Vinni T'Vine's castle. The cook had everything prepared for the morrow and had retired to his rooms in nervous exhaustion. Drina was upstairs testing Danith D'Ash's new Fam Grooming Cabinet and Spa.

So Mitchella stood in the Grand Hall, ready to review the Residence one last time. Her stay at the house was numbered in septhours, and she seethed with anxiety about the open house and how the great Nobles of the land would judge her work, and dread at the pain that would come when she said good-bye to Straif.

The Hall was gorgeous, the walls a rich, warm cream color with a mixture of jewel-toned paintings, tapestries, and holos displaying the Blackthorns' collection of art. All the most striking objects were in the Hall to impress the visitor as they stepped through the huge door. The light was soft and focused to show the art at best advantage.

She sighed, shook her head. She didn't see how she could have improved on her job here, and that filled her with a melancholy satisfaction.

There was a quiet “pop,” and Straif stood behind her. Every nerve quivered in acknowledgment of his presence. She thought her very skin breathed in the aura of him. He rested his hands on her shoulders and brought his body to touch hers from behind. The feel of him made her knees weak.

“Thank you for giving my home back to me—better than ever before,” he said, and his breath brushed her ears. She wanted nothing but to sink back against him. Forever. So she stiffened her knees and locked a door against pain. Pain would be in the future, but she didn't have to suffer it now.

She chuckled. “This will make my reputation, Straif, and Clover Furniture will do well, also. Do you wish to do a last tour with me?”

“No. I've already been through the Residence. It's wonderful. Listen.”

Holding still, she strained her ears and heard the Residence murmuring to itself as it checked its rooms and initiated spells. When she inhaled, a mild scent of honeysuckle drifted to her.

“The Residence is happy. Drina is happy.
I
am happy,” Straif whispered. “At this moment there is nothing I want more than to make love to you.” He turned her around and looked into her eyes, his own dark blue, yearning, shadowed with the knowledge of the end. “Will you come to bed with me?”

One last night in the generational Blackthorn bed, as his HeartMate, but not to HeartBond.

He had restored his home, turned an enemy into welcome Family, bonded with a Fam, and found a potion that granted immunity to the Angh virus. He had broken the Blackthorn Curse and would demonstrate to all tomorrow that he was a FirstFamily GrandLord. No wonder he was happy.

So she said what she'd said so often in the past and would only say again this one last night. “Of course I'll love you.” In bed and forever.

She slid her hands into his thick sandy hair and drew his lips down to hers, opening her mouth wide. His hand covered her bottom and pressed her hard against his aroused body. Their tongues dueled, and she sucked on his and took the taste of him into her, to remember always.

Then his hands were between them, slipping down the grooves of her clothes, opening her tunic, her breastband, cupping her breasts and playing with her nipples until she couldn't breathe, she had to break the kiss, just to groan her delight and desire.

He circled her wrist with his fingers and drew her slowly, as if dancing, across the marble squares of the Hall and to the stairs, leading her up to his bed. Her blood pounded hot. Her core dampened, readying to take him into her.

“Come with me,” he said, tempting her. They climbed the staircase, and it seemed like a dream. “Come to me,” he said and opened the door to his suite, kicked it shut behind him. “Come
for
me,” he said as he put her on the bed and joined her there, side by side.

Matching her gaze with his own, his hand slid beneath the waistband of her trous, under her pantlettes, until his fingers found her swollen flesh begging for his touch.

He stroked her, found the seat of her passion, pressed, and she whimpered and closed her eyelids. He withdrew his hand. “Don't,” he said. “Look into my eyes. I want that link, gaze to gaze, body to body, emotion to emotion. Watch me while I watch you.”

“Yes,” she whispered and lifted her fingers to brush against his cheek.

“Clothes gone,” he muttered, and they were naked. His manhood was strong and thick against her thigh.

“Come inside me,” she whispered, arching against him, seeing his pupils dilate. She caressed him with her whole body, rubbing, letting the roughness of his chest hair against her breasts push her to a higher level of sensuality. She reached down and found him, brought him to her, over her, in her. And he was
there.
Everywhere. In her body. In her mind. In her heart.

And she was in his eyes.

Her breath clogged in her throat as he filled her, stretched her, caressed her intimately sex to sex. He withdrew, lingered at the entrance of her sheath, slowly penetrated again. The bond between them flowed with nothing but sensation, passion, rising ecstasy.

He rode her, or she rocked under him. His intensity enveloped her, his eyes went unfocused, and all she could see was blue and black and gold-silver-sparkling light of passion. He moved faster, she panted, but kept her eyes on his, open to him in all ways.

He plunged. She cried out. They shattered together, and the pleasure was so sharp that all went starburst-white. He collapsed on her.

A few minutes later, he rolled to his side, tucked her into the curve of his body. They slept together.

When she woke, he was dressing. She glanced at the timer—Work bell, but it wasn't a workday, it was Playday. The open house was set for two septhours after noon.

He watched her with narrow gaze, impassive expression as he closed the tab-groove of his tunic. “Stay with me.”

She couldn't discuss this in bed. She got up and dressed in last night's clothes. She'd stand under a waterfall soon. “The project is over.”

“There's still a lot to do.”

“Not so much, finishing touches that I think your Lady should complete.”

“I'm not ready to find my HeartMate.”

Mitchella flinched inwardly. “Straif, you weren't ready to stay in Druida, but the Hollys called you back. You weren't ready to rehabilitate your Residence, but living in T'Holly Residence under a broken vow of honor forced you away. Your contract with me and Stachys's claim prodded you to complete this work. The only thing that you've been ‘ready' to do is to find the cure for your flawed heritage. I imagine that you'll always search for that. Meantime you have a preventative drink that will shield your children from harm. It's time to move on with your life.”

“Are you trying to fight with me?”

“No.”

A calendar-globe appeared. “Time to distill and drink the vaccine against the Angh virus,” it said.

“I want you to stay with me.”

“Antenn and I have our own place.”

“Let's talk about this after the open house. Please.”

“All right.” She hoped she had the willpower to stand against him. An affair, no matter how loving and long term, wasn't an option as long as he wanted children.

Straif nodded. “Right.” He smiled the smile that always touched her. “I'm glad you're my hostess today.” He looked around the room, “I'm glad that it was you who made my Residence a home for me again.”

Mitchella chuckled. “You'll get my bill.”

“I'll pay it, and I'll introduce you to
everyone
today.” He strode over, pulled her against him, and kissed her. He was aroused. “You can't give this up,” he whispered. “I can't give it up. Not yet.”

Leaving her breathing hard, he walked away. She sank onto the bed and put her face in her hands. A few more hours—perhaps. Why couldn't she make the break? But it wasn't time to think about it now, even as a thin blade of hurt slipped into her heart as she thought of him in the stillroom, preparing for his future Family. Soon the urge to mate and sire children would override his passion for her. She might be able to hold him if she told him he was her HeartMate—but bitterness would eat at him, ruin their lives together.

Much better to cut their affair clean and quick, especially when she had some tiny hope of being able to build another life for herself—after she survived the pain of losing her love.

 
 
Straif was fumbling through the distilling process when he
heard Mitchella scream. “Residence, report!” he ordered.

“There has been an incident in the Heir's Playroom,” the Residence said.

Straif 'ported to the chamber. Drina was on her bedsponge, hissing, the wing of a miller moth drooping from her mouth.

Mitchella trembled in fury as she cursed the cat.

The room was in ruins—the delicate swoops of gauze showed huge holes. The linen covers were ripped. The hoop holding the fragile gathered material over the bedsponge tilted, broken.

“How do you expect me to restore this room before the open house?” Mitchella demanded.

Drina lifted her nose, slurped up the last of the moth, and grinned at Straif.
I got the moths. Three. Tell Mitchella she needs to fix My room.

“No, Mitchella does not have to fix the room.” He took his seething lover's arm and moved her to the door. “We'll just set a spell on the door making it off-limits.”

Yowling, Drina said,
But I wanted My room to be admired.

“Then you shouldn't have ruined it.” Mitchella sounded as if she spoke through clenched teeth. “I'm done with you, cat. I won't do one more thing for you.” Mitchella turned on her heel and slammed out.

Drina tried to look pitiful. It didn't work. Straif surveyed the room, shrugged. “You're on your own in redecorating this one, Drina. I don't have the time or inclination.”

The cat lashed her tail.
You never gave Me more diamonds for My collar. Perhaps I should no longer be your Fam.

He didn't like the idea, but didn't dare show it to the little cat. Unlike Mitchella, Drina wasn't above manipulation. He shrugged. “Suit yourself. I thought you wanted to be a FirstFamily Familiar. If you don't, you can leave. I'll forward more diamonds as pay for your work on the Residence. Just let me know where you want them sent.”

“Your decision,” Straif said.

The Residence said, “Danith D'Ash is here with Pinky. The young tomcat is now a Fam.”

“That must be something to see,” Straif said, and left Drina hissing.

He spoke a moment to D'Ash, who studied him and Mitchella intently, then he went back to the stillroom and began the process of making the potion all over again. It was slow going and he could only hope that he'd be faster and better at the process with practice. Lord and Lady knew that he'd be doing it the rest of his life. Every day for the rest of his life. He shuddered but gulped the nasty stuff down.

Residence said, “The cook and Mitchella are arranging the tables for the feast. They say everything is under control and will be ready in a septhour. HouseHeart is expecting you for two septhours of meditation.”

Straif sighed. “Tell the others that I'm in the HouseHeart. Invite the Fam.”

A moment later the Residence said. “The Fam is not responding.”

“Right.” Straif went to the secret door, down the passage, then disrobed and entered the HouseHeart.

He'd blessed the HouseHeart and accepted its blessing, had settled into his meditation for a short while before the Residence alarm claxon sounded.

“The scry at the gates has been disabled. The last thing I saw was the Fam leaving. She is missing. I sense violence,” the Residence said.

Thirty

Straif was at the greeniron entrance gates, working on the
front scrystone when Mitchella ran down the gliderway to join him. He looked grim.

Mitchella panted, “Residence said Drina left. I thought she wanted to sit in the Great Hall and present a portrait of elegance. I was angry with her, but
she
wouldn't run away.”

He pointed to clumps of white and brown hair on the other side of the greeniron gate—a gate Drina could slip through, even shieldspelled. Mitchella gasped. “There's blood.”

“I see that,” Straif said in a hard voice. His whole aspect had changed, refined down to the warrior. Half warrior, half hunter.

He reached for her hand, and she dimly saw what he did, a bright yellow green trail leading away from the gates.